


The Inn of a Madman

by newyorktopaloalto



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Land of Wrath and Angels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newyorktopaloalto/pseuds/newyorktopaloalto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eridan had thought that it was just him, that he was crazy— until he started killing the angels that had bound him against his will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Inn of a Madman

He had never really thought upon it before, that the aching in his chest could be something other than just the musings of someone barely old enough to feel real, true pain. He had never thought that there might have actually been something wrong— that the way he acted wasn’t entirely his fault. Just, mostly his fault, but not entirely. And that’s what made him believe that it could be better. That he could be better— that he wasn’t doomed for failure from the start like so many had said about him. Like he, himself, had said about him. But now, maybe he has come to realize that something was off. Something had always been off, and it took him almost dying a hundred thousand times to realize that. 

The angels— they were the first indicator. They laughed at his plight, taunting him about the nothingness that he had become to everyone else, that his hope was futile. They had been there, watching him, they had said, since before he could even remember having nightmares. They were the horrorterrors that kept life running in the manner it was supposed to. They killed, and he killed for them. He was their pawn, they had explained— and he was getting useless. The moment he had started killing them, his dreams had disappeared. When there were hues of purple and gold, there was now only black and nothing. It was void. 

The whispers, though, they stayed. Because if there was one thing in his life that would persevere throughout it all, it would be the whispers. Even the angels couldn’t get rid of those, out of their control, they had said in a time when they had been working for the same side, before he had realized that everything they had showed him was nothing more than a gilded cage. The whispers stayed, but everything else disappeared. The people he loved, the people he hated— everything was a mess and he was the center of it. The hopeful, hopeless. He almost laughed at the irony. 

He had tried, he had tried so hard to contact anyone, but no one came— no one dared to come to the inn of a madman. Because that’s all he was, right? A madman with a sad tale that everyone pretended to listen to, but no one actually cared about. And it was pointless. Pointless hoping for things that wouldn’t happen, would never happen, and never could happen. And so he killed. Killing was all he was good for, and so he killed those that gave him false hope, had led him through his dreams for longer than he could remember. 

And once he was done killing them, he killed everyone else. 

Because that’s all he ever could be. A madman, a killer. No point in being anyone else. No hope in being anyone else. 

There was no hope, he just had to make everyone else realize that. Then they would see, they could see what he had seen for so long. They would all learn, and they would understand. And in the end, he would save them all. 

The one thing he could do was save them all— the last thing he could do.

**Author's Note:**

> idk what this even is. i wrote when sick, so that can tell you a lot.


End file.
